Stroke of Luck, Hand of Fate
by BlueLunacy7
Summary: Transformers/Sorcerer's Apprentice crossover: Dave Stutler's destiny didn't lie within the walls of the Arcana Cabana but Sam Witwicky's did. Eventual Sam/Bee.
1. Chapter 1: Take me up

Stroke of Luck, Hand of Fate

Author: BlueLunacy7

Chapter Warnings: Mild violence

Pairings: None at the moment but future Sam/Bee

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or the Sorcerer's Apprentice or any quotes or lyrics, or song titles in any way, shape, or form. Basically, nothing you recognize is mine.

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**Chapter 1: Take me up**

Everything you thought you knew about the world is about to change. -Balthazar Blake

'_Well this is gonna suck.'_ Ten year old, Sam Witwicky moaned mentally, touching his throbbing lip.

Every Monday like clockwork, his mom would visit a small shop called Pomona's Garden to see what had new plants had come in and what new flowers she could add to her yard. Why she just didn't go to Wal-Mart or Lowes for her gardening needs, Sam didn't know. Normally, she would plan her trips when he was in school but this Monday he'd gotten into a fight and the principal sent him home.

It wasn't his fault that Trent DeMarco was a jerk. He wouldn't stop picking on Mikaela, one of the prettiest girls in class that Sam was supposed to have a crush on. Keywords: _supposed to._ He really didn't _like_ her like that, she was nice enough but he really _liked_ his best friend Miles but Sam knew that was wrong. At least that's what his teacher said when he asked her. Boys were supposed to like girls not other boys, so he made himself have a crush on Mikaela.

Therefore, when DeMarco shoved her, Sam had hit him because you're supposed to defend the girl you liked. However, DeMarco was much bigger than he was and proceeded to pounded Sam into the ground until Mikaela pulled him off. They both were sent home for three days for the fight.

Unfortunately, on the way home Mom got a call from Lily who worked at Pomona's Garden. She said that some 'absolutely beautiful peonies' had _just_ come in and if Mom wanted to see them, she'd have to come to the shop as soon as possible. Now rather than going home so he could nurse his busted lip, they were going to the store.

"Mom, do I have to go?" Sam whined as they pulled into the parking lot.

"Yes, unless you want to stay in the car?"

Sam made a face, wincing in pain as it pulled his lip. She could in there for _hours, _talkingplants and it was hot today. However, it wouldn't be so bad if she left the car on for the air conditioner-

As if she read his mind, she stated, "I'm not leaving the car on. It uses up the gas."

"You'd let me roast just to save a little gas?"

"Yep, it's nearly four bucks a gallon." She replied as she gathered her purse and got out of the car.

Sam shrugged his book-bag onto his back and followed her. She eyed his bag, "Why are taking your book-bag?"

"Figured I could do some homework while you talked." Sam shrugged, he hadn't inherited his parents' love of gardening, all the talks of fertilizer and what plant did well in the sun or shade was so incredibly _boring _that homework was a treat in comparison.

"Good idea. Oh, would you look at this!"

Rolling his eyes while his mother cooed over some of the plants displayed in front of the store, a glint of gold caught Sam's eye from the building next door.

**The Arcana Cabana**

**Antiquities and Obscurities**

**Balthazar Blake - Proprietor**

**By Appointment Only**

Sam could have sworn that the building hadn't been there the last time. The building was thinner than the ones on either side and it was black wood rather than red brick. The large somewhat dirty windows had dark blue curtains coated with dust and silver stars in strange but vaguely familiar constellations on them, what he could see of them anyway since they were tied up out of the way. The merchandise on display ranged from a huge stuffed owl to a complete skeleton wearing a pirate hat.

There were also books. Sam loved books, when most kids would asked for toys for birthdays and Christmas, he would asked for books (though he quickly learned to ask for Bookstore gift cards since his parents tended to choose 'age appropriate' books rather than the adult novels he enjoyed). Even though the books he could see in the Arcana Cabana were thick and obviously old, he still wanted to look at them.

"Mom, I'm going to check out the store next door, okay?" The _'By Appointment Only' _on the door didn't detour Sam, after all the worst that could happen was his being asked to leave by the proprietor.

"Sure honey." His mom agreed absently, not looking up from the flowers.

Besides a slight creak from the hinges, there were no ringing of bells or anything like the sounds he'd heard when he entered other shops, nothing to alert the Proprietor that there was a customer. The inside of the Arcana Cabana was filled from wall to wall with strange items and antiques, the scent of old paper, leather and dust filled the air.

While cautiously navigating the pathway between the clutter of dust-caked antiques and other very weird things, one of the stranger items got Sam's attention. It looked like a human eyeball incased in glass, only it had a slit pupil rather than a round one.

"No way." He murmured as the pupil expanded and contracted every time he moved his hand over it as if responding to the light.

Sam picked it up to get a better look and, unfortunately, unbalanced the unseen book it had been sitting on, triggering a chain reaction of ruin. He could only watch in horror at the amount damage his one simple action caused, leaving a wake of destruction like a demented Rube Goldberg machine. It finally ended with a small green box breaking through the glass of the dusty showcase-counter and landing topside up at his feet.

"This is not my fault." Sam said to the empty shop. He knew he should be running, that he had to get out of here before the Proprietor came out and seen all the damage but the sight of the small green box stopped him. He couldn't help but pick it up, almost as if it was….calling to him. Sam mentally shook his head; it wasn't the box that was calling to him but his own compulsive curiosity. As his father put it, Sam had more curiosity than a zoo full of raccoons and his hands had the small scars to prove it, including a permanent dip in his middle fingernail where his questing fingers had encountered a rattrap.

Nevertheless, a peek inside the box wouldn't take long and then he would run. Besides, it was just a box. No harm ever came from opening a box.

Well, okay there was that _one_ time…but his name wasn't Pandora.

The box was carved from dark green stone and was obviously very old. Its sides were engraved with designs that looked almost like words, not of a language he could read, and other obscure symbols. The hinges squealed slightly in protest when he opened the lid, inside of box was a dragon figurine made of silver.

Carefully, Sam ran a fingertip over one of the dragon's wings. The moment he touched the cool metal, an unexpected feeling of warmth surged up his arm. Intrigued, he took the dragon figurine out of the box so he could get a better look. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand and was so finely detailed it looked almost real; especially the way its emerald eyes twinkled in the light.

Suddenly, the tiny dragon shook its head and stretched like a cat just waking up from a long nap. It scurried from the palm of his hand to the back of it, where wrapped itself around his ring finger, folding its wings, revealing a green stone, most likely an emerald imbedded in its back. As suddenly as it became animated, it stilled looking like nothing more than a large ring.

"Cool." Sam admired the ring for a few moments before trying to get it off his finger, remembering that he didn't want to be here when the Proprietor saw the damage he had unwittingly caused. Accidental damage was one thing, _stealing_ was another and if he left the store with the ring, he would be technically stealing it, which would be really bad.

The problem was that he couldn't get the thing off. He pulled on it until his felt his knuckle pop but it still didn't move. He would swear he felt the dragon's tail that was wrapped around the base of his finger tighten and the tiny claws dig into his skin as if to say, '_Oh no, you're not getting rid of me __**that**__ easily.'_ Sam considered trying to pry it off using his teeth but really didn't want to stick the ring in his mouth, who knew where it had been?

During his tug of war with the ring, Sam had been slowly backing up without realizing it until he felt his book bag bump into something. Whirling around, he saw it was the ugliest vase (at least that's what he thought it was) he'd ever seen, painted with what looked like tormented souls writhing in pain on a horrific landscape.

The thing began to topple over but a hand caught it, a hand with a ring on each finger, which Sam thought was cool. The owner of the hand was a tall man in a dark leather trench coat adorned with strange symbols. Dark honey blond hair hung in lank locks around an intense if melancholy face with at least a day's worth of stubble. His eyes were a vivid blue, like pieces of deep blue sky. Those eyes struck a deep chord of familiarly within Sam, though he was sure he had never met the man before in his life.

"The second emperor of the Han dynasty locked his least favorite wife in this urn for 10 years to the day." The man explained. His low, raspy voice made the story more believable, "It's said that if you open it the same will happen to you."

Sam swallowed thickly, sticking his hands in his pockets and moving away as the man put the urn back on the pedestal. Sam felt a stab of pity for that unlucky but probably fictional wife. He himself was intensely claustrophobic to the point he couldn't stand having his closet door closed while he was inside. Being in a tiny urn for ten years must be the stuff of nightmares.

The man looked Sam over a moment before asking, "What happened to your lip?"

"I got in a fight." Startled by the question, he touched his lip, trying to act casual. He didn't realize that his actions were highlighting the fact that he was hiding his other hand.

The guy picked up the green box Sam had dropped earlier. Seeing it empty, he demanded, "Show me you hands. _Both_ of them."

Okay, this guy was _creepy _and now vaguely scary_._ Sam decided right then that he would mail the stupid ring back to the Arcana Cabana once he was safely back home. "I should be going; my mom is probably waiting for me." As he turned to the door, he saw it close and then heard it lock on its own accord. "Oh _crap_."

"Your hands, Sam?" The guy smirked when Sam turned back around with wide eyes.

"How did you know my name was Sam?" It was official, somehow when he walked through that door he'd ended up in the _Twilight Zone_.

"Because I can read minds!" The man declared grandly. A slight smile followed, making Sam realize the guy enjoyed messing with him. He all but confirmed it when he conceded, "It's on your backpack."

Sam spun around in circles, trying to see the nametag that was stitched to his book bag. The guy grabbed his shoulder to stop Sam's spinning before he could knock anything else over. Sam looked up at him, realizing how very tall this guy seemed to be and started getting really nervous.

"Well, um… you see…. The thing is…." Sam shuttered, looking away when he saw the look he was getting that said clearly, _'I can tell you're going to try lying to me and you suck at it, so don't waste my time.' _Looking down at his shoes, Sam showed the man the ring on his finger and said in a small voice, "I can't get it to come off."

Sam felt a callused hand take his own and he was close enough to hear the man sigh deeply. Fingers were suddenly under his chin, titling his head up so he had to look the guy in the face. He was smiling, the expression lighting up and transforming his whole face but Sam could swear he saw _tears_ standing in those blue eyes. The way he was looking Sam made him feel all warm inside and he felt himself blush. Sam thought he saw recognition in those eyes, as if the guy thought Sam was someone he knew, someone…precious.

_Nobody_ looked at Sam that way, not even his own parents. To get that look from a stranger was a bit unnerving to say the least.

"I have been searching... a very long time," The guy swallowed thickly before continuing, "and magically, here you are."

"Do you know what this ring means?" The guy asked softly, lowering Sam's hand but not letting go. _'That I'm going to end up on the Amber Alert?'_ Sam mentally answered. When he shook his head, the guy continued, "You're going to be a force for good and a very important sorcerer. But for now, you're my apprentice."

"Sorcerer? Apprentice? _Me?_" Sam squeaked out. He had daydreamed about being able to use magic like in his books but it wasn't _real_. There was no way it was real, "Are you insane?"

The guy seem to think about it for a second and then held up his hand with his fingers an inch apart. _'A little bit. Okay.'_ Sam couldn't help it, he giggled. Just like that, the guy went from being scary and creepy to very odd but harmless.

"There's a lot to learn, but right now your first lesson begins now with your very own Encantus," the guy finally released Sam's hand, "Do not move, do not touch _anything_." He instructed as he headed to the back of the store, "I'll know, I have eyes in the back of my head."

"Wait!" Sam called after him, "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm Balthazar Blake, your master." With that odd statement, the guy -_Balthazar_- descended the stair case Sam could have sworn wasn't there before.

Without Balthazar there, Sam could think again. He glanced around, looking for a clock, not knowing how long he'd been inside the Arcana Cabana. His mother could be finishing up at Pomona's and would come looking for him, which would be very bad. Torn between leaving and staying put as Balthazar had told him to, he unconsciously twirled his hair around his finger of the right hand.

A knocking noise caught his attention. He stilled so he could listen better but heard nothing. When he let his hand drop down to his side and he heard it again. After a few moments, he realized the sound was responding to the ring's movements. Experimenting, Sam jerked his hand hard and a small section of wall exploded outwards. Something flew at him that he caught automatically before it hit him.

"This place will be a demolition sale by the time I'm done." He murmured as he looked at the strange nesting doll in his hand. Painted on the front was an angry man in old-fashioned clothing. He felt sudden flare of heat from the doll's surface that made him drop it as a seam appeared around the middle.

It popped open a crack when it hit the floor. Out of the opening came cockroaches, hundreds of them, _thousands_ of them, more than a small doll could possible hold. As he watched in disgust and amazement, they formed a humanoid shape that became a robust man in a fur-lined coat and bowler hat, who scowled at Sam.

"When am I?" the man asked in a cultured, velvety voice as he straightened his clothes.

Fear not allowing him to understand the question, Sam squeaked, "When?"

"Yes." Bug Man snapped, "The _year_, brat." When Sam just stared, Bug Man aimed his cane at him, the crystal top growing ominously, "You are wasting my time." Before he could do anything, Bug Man was yanked away from Sam by an invisible force and was hoisted to shop's ceiling windows where he was pinned.

"What happened to _don't touch anything?_" Sam turned to see Balthazar with a huge book in one hand and the other outstretched toward Bug Man.

Never had Sam been so happy to see someone, even if Balthazar was unhappy with him. "This is not my fault! It just came-"

Bug Man interrupted him, commenting rather sourly, "That's not very sporting of you Balthazar. I hardly got a chance to stretch my legs."

"Be quiet!" Balthazar barked at Bug Man and then turned back to Sam, "It's not you, he's been this way for a thousand years. I'll explain later. Right now, I need the Grimhold. Where's that doll?"

Sam looked down and saw the doll about a foot from him. Not wanting to touch it, he gently rolled it toward Balthazar with his foot. As Balthazar put the book down and reached for the doll, he was blasted into a wall by Bug Man, who fell from the ceiling, landing on his feet like a cat.

The fight that happened next would have been really cool to see in a movie; however, it wasn't so much fun being in the middle of it. Sam hid behind a heavy counter as pulses of energy began to fly from one man to the other, he could hear heavy things being throwing into walls and the sounds of fighting. He yelped in surprise as a blast exploded overhead, raining broken glass, a piece of which cut the side of his face. The doll rolled near him as the floor violently shook from an explosion. The painting on it was different this time, a picture of an angry Chinese man.

For some reason, he did not want Bug Man to get his hands on it. Still not wanting to touch the doll, he grabbed a cloth from one of the nearby tables and yanked hard, not caring that he spilled every on the table to the floor. Wrapping the doll up tightly, he then stuffed it into his book bag and peered over the counter, trying to find a way out of the store.

What he saw made his heart sink. Balthazar was thrown yet again into a wall at the back of the store and with a gesture of Bug Man's hand; a wall of fire sprang up between him and Balthazar. Bug Man then caught sight of Sam and smiled. Terrified, Sam bolted for the door, only to be yanked backwards and thrown into a wall were he was stuck, feet not touching the floor.

Bug Man calmly walked over to Sam as if the store wasn't on fire. His cold grey eyes studied him, making Sam feel like a butterfly that a collector was considering putting on display and was deciding whether to kill it by crushing its thorax or by sticking a pin through it.

Something flickered in those eyes: recognition. Bug Man leaned in close enough Sam could smell the spiciness of his cologne and the tobacco on his breath, "Oh my, what pretty eyes you have," he commented with a low chuckle, "I wonder if Balthazar has noticed?" Too scared to say anything, Sam flinched as the cold, jeweled top of the cane caressed his cheek just beneath his cut, whimpering when he saw it glow from the corner of his vision and felt warmth spread through his skin.

Once the warmth faded, he realized neither his cut nor his lip hurt anymore.

"That's better isn't it? Just tell me where the Grimhold is, Samuel," Bug Man coaxed gently, not letting Sam look away, "and I'll let you go."

'_He's lying.'_ Sam was as sure of that as he was his own name. "I don't know."

Bug Man shook his head, still smiling, "You always were a _dreadful_ liar."

"_**Get away from him!"**_ As the flames vanished, Balthazar tackled Bug Man, sending them both to the floor. The force holding Sam up suddenly disappeared and he fell to the painfully ground.

Balthazar and Bug Man were locked together in a struggle, neither loosening his grip on the other as they thrashed about on the floor, bumping into the urn that Sam had almost knocked over earlier. Only this time it did fall over with a deep thud that sounded deeper than the urn could be, the lid slipping off and falling to the floor. Bug Man was the first to start being sucked inside the urn which Sam thought was great until he saw Balthazar was still restraining him, keeping him from getting away from the urn's suction.

"Run Sam!" Balthazar snapped out, grunting in pain as Bug Man fought his hold but he didn't let go as they were dragged towards to the mouth of the urn. "Get out of here!"

Sam's heart seemed to twist painful in his chest as he shook his head. He couldn't lose Balthazar, he just _couldn't_. He grabbed Balthazar's arm as tightly as he could, the bottoms of his sneakers squeaking as he tried to get some traction by digging his heels into the floor, trying to pull Balthazar away from the urn.

"Let go!" Balthazar cried, desperation lacing his voice the closer they got to mouth of the urn. "Let go of me!"

"No!" Sam replied through gritted teeth as he was dragged along with them across the floor. "Don't want to lose you."

Bug Man was nearly inside the urn completely, his one free hand now gripping Balthazar's coat as if determined to drag him inside as well. It became a tug of war with Sam and Balthazar on one side against Bug Man and the urn. When it became apparent that they were going to lose if something didn't happen, Sam looked around for something, _anything_ that could help, his eyes landing on a piece of wood that was red hot at one end.

Seeing a chance, Sam held on to Balthazar's arm with one hand and reached towards the piece of wood with the other, falling short. As fear of being sucked into that tiny urn began to build inside of him as he strained to reach, something else did as well. It was a familiar feeling, a strange sort of fluttery, writhing feeling built inside him as if something was looking for a way out. In desperation, Sam pleaded, _**"Please!"**_

The dragon ring glowed as he felt a tugging drain deep within and the wood slapped into his hand hard enough to send a painful jolt up his arm. Not wasting any time, Sam pressed the hot end into the back of Bug Man's hand. Screaming in pain from the burn, Bug Man reflexively let go of Balthazar's coat and was sucked the rest of the way into the urn.

Balthazar threw himself away from the urn as the lid slammed back into place. With a flick of his hand, the urn righted itself, settling on its base after rocking unsteadily for an instant. For long moment, the only sound in store was their heavy breathing as they both stared at the urn that nearly sucked them inside.

Sam yelped as he was unexpectedly dragged across the floor once again, this time into Balthazar's arms as he was pulled into a tight hug. Balthazar was _shaking_; Sam could feel the sorcerer trembling, hear his heart beat a frantic rhythm as Balthazar scolded him.

"Don't _**ever**_ do that again," Balthazar's voice rumbled against Sam's cheek, "Don't ever scare me like this again."

Sam didn't say anything; just hesitatingly put his arms around Balthazar. His parents weren't 'huggie' people and for the life of him, he didn't know why. It was nice, being hugged. It was warm, which was pleasant since he realized he felt cold for some reason. The scent of leather along with a sweet, woody fragrance coming from Balthazar made Sam feel safe. Perhaps that was why Sam started to cry softly when his mind finally processed what the heck just happen. He knew as a boy he shouldn't cry but he couldn't help it, not only was it that weird thing with Bug Man but Sam was just realizing he'd nearly been sucked into a teeny-tiny urn for ten years.

He fully expected Balthazar to push him away, after all most people wouldn't tolerate a strange boy crying on them. Instead, Balthazar just pulled Sam closer against him and Sam felt him rest his chin on top of his head; his hand gently rubbed Sam's back as he whispered comforting words. Sam instinctively snuggled tighter against Balthazar, the feeling of his deep voice rumbling against Sam's cheek comforting as he cried.

Once his sobs became sniffles and he could get them back under control, Sam murmured, "Sorry I let Bug Man out of the doll."

Sam felt Balthazar chuckle, "I would say, 'Let that be a lesson to you' but it seems a bit unnecessary."

After few moments, Sam reluctantly asked, "So how does this sorcerer's apprentice thing work again?"

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Author's note:

This was supposed to be simply another one shot chapter in _How Sam met Bumblebee_ but somehow it just grew into an idea for a whole fic. I know I have other fics to work on but I go where the plot bunnies lead me.

Before anyone says anything, Balthazar and Horvath (Bug Man) are not perving on ten-year-old Sam. They are immortal sorcerers who have lived for thousands of years, so they're going to be a tiny bit weird. Balthazar doesn't realize how odd his actions are in regards to a kid, he's just happy to have found the Prime Merlinean after searching for so long.

Horvath…*shrugs* villains just love picking on the cute ones (I point you to that whole bathroom scene with Drake, Dave and Horvath in the movie.)

I just recently had the chance to watch the Sorcerer's Apprentice. The trailers made it look like a cool movie but in reality, it was simply okay. I liked the cast and the special effects were good as well as the premise but it just sort of fell flat.

However, I would like to point something out.

Transformers: Optimus _**Prime,**_ the Dynasty of _**Primes**_

The Sorcerer's Apprentice: the _**Prime**_ Merlinean

In reality, this is merely a coincidence, however, in the land of Fanfiction, half the fun is turning coincidence into fate. Hence the title _Stroke of Luck, Hand of Fate._

I will warn you now, the magic in this fic will be more '_magical'_ and less '_science'_ simply because I don't understand physics well (actually, at _all_). In addition, I will be messing around with the history of Merlin's three apprentices and why the Prime Merlinean is so important to Balthazar.

Thanks for reading,

-BlueLunacy7


	2. Chapter 2: Practical Magic

Stroke of Luck, Hand of Fate

Author: BlueLunacy7

Chapter Warnings: None

Pairings: None at the moment but future Sam/Bee

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or the Sorcerer's Apprentice or any quotes or lyrics, or song titles in any way, shape, or form. Basically, nothing you recognize is mine.

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**Chapter 2: Practical Magic**

This is the burden we bear brother. We have a gig that inevitably would cause any girl living to think that we are cool upon cool. Yet we must Clark Kent our way through the day never to use it to our advantage. -Forrest Gates, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "Hush"_

_Six years later….._

"There are rules you have to follow for your own good. Staying out all night without calling and then lying about it…" Judy Witwicky's breath hitched a bit as she spoke to her errant offspring, "We didn't know if you were laying in ditch somewhere…. you can't do _that_ to me Sammie. My heart can't take it. "

"I know, I know, I know." Sam replied to that blatant bit of manipulation, adjusting his grip on the boxes of cleaning supplies and not meeting her tearful eyes. This whole situation was extremely unfair from Sam's point of view. It wasn't fair that she could use the _Mommy Guilt-trip Maneuver _with full knowledge of which buttons to push to make him feel like the lowest of the low (a tactic he was sure fell under the title of Cruel and Unusual Punishment.) It wasn't fair that he was being punished for lying when he wasn't.

Changing the subject before he got angry again and took it out on his mother he asked, "Do you want me to put down rattraps when I'm done in the attic?"

"They're _mice_ traps." She corrected automatically with a slight glare, "We have _mice_ not _rats_." Then, as she realized what she said, quickly continued, "Not that we have rats or mice _but_ if we did have them they would be mice."

Sam couldn't help but tease, "You do know that the mice I'm talking about don't wear white gloves and work at Disney, right?"

"Ha ha, very funny." Judy replied, rolling her eyes. However, her tone became serious again, "Sam, if you ever need to talk about what going on with you-"

'_Uh-oh.'_ Wanting to avoid what would most likely be a rather traumatic attempt at a heart to heart, Sam interrupted, "I should probably get started; 'cause I don't want to have to be up there all day."

Climbing the ladder as quickly as he could without spilling the boxes, Sam felt slightly guilty about the secrets he was keeping. In his defense, he _had_ tried to tell his parents about his apprenticeship, about magic and they just didn't listen. No, it wasn't that. It wasn't so much that they didn't listen but simply didn't _hear_ what he was saying. Most of the time, they acted as if he was talking about 'one of those stupid books/movies of his' to quote his father. The last time he tried, Dad starting hinting about drug use while Mom had implied that the Witwicky crazy gene had made an appearance and that maybe Sam should see a psychiatrist, which of course started an argument between his parents.

At least she was _trying_ to be understanding of her strange wayward son, which was more than Dad was doing. Trying to direct his mind away from such a depressing thought path, Sam surveyed the task ahead of him. The largish attic hadn't been clean since his parents moved in and definitely looked it. The air was still, almost stifling hot and heavy with dust that made him sneeze. Illuminated by a single naked bulb, the stacked boxes were both cardboard and plastic in various states of disrepair; everything from the ceiling to the floor was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. He was sure heard faint scratching sounds of something scurrying away.

'_Yuck.'_

Normally, such a job of cleaning and organizing this mess would take all day and probably most of the night, leaving Sam sweating, dirty, miserably tired for work the next day. Unquestionably, not the way any teenager wanted to spend the last day of his weekend. Of course, by his parents' way of thinking, this was not only the perfect punishment for him, now they had someone to clean the attic without having to pay for it_, _effectively killing two birds with one stone.

'_Too bad for them, I'm derailing their perfect punishment plans.'_ He could almost hear Balthazar's stern voice telling him, "_Magic is not to be used for personal gain or shortcuts_." Well, _this_ time it wasn't for his own gain, it was for his parents who needed their attic cleaned and would get an unfair punishment over and done as soon as possible. It would also be good practice for casting magic outside the Arcana Cabana in a mundane setting.

At least, that's what he was going to tell his Master. '_Plus that whole argument would have been __**so**__ much more convincing had I not caught __him doing the same thing with __**his**__ magic.'_

First things first, Sam fired off two quick spells: one that freshened and cooled the air to something bearable and another that banished any living critters and bugs to another location. In this case, the neighbors' yard across the street who he didn't particularly care for, with good reason (he was a Merlinean, not a saint and besides, he was helping balance their Karma.)

Going through and reorganizing every box was going to be the most time consuming,_ 'Particularly since they most likely __**weren't**__ organized in the first place but at least I don't have to clean by hand. ' _

So-called domestic magic was some of the first Balthazar had taught him, since it required little in the way of power but let him get a feel for his magic. The trick would be to remove the dirt, dust and cobwebs without removing anything _else_, especially since he didn't know what was in the boxes. Rather than one big powerful spell, he'd have to weave together several smaller spells (which was much more complicated) to remove the filth and he'd have to go slowly. He'd still have to spell some items separately to act as a catalyst for certain enchantments but it still wouldn't take as long as it would have without magic.

'_And it's not like I have anywhere else to be at the moment.' _Sam mused as he cracked his knuckles,_ 'besides, the 'rents would get suspicious if I finished __**too**__ early. They might even think of something else as a supplement punishment!'_

Ring glowing softly, a swarm of sparkling motes swirled around his hands like multi-colored fireflies as he carefully wove together spells that would remove dust, dirt, cobwebs, any animal droppings and carcasses without removing anything else. With a gentle shooing gesture, he set the spell into motion and the swarm danced along the floor, over the boxes, up the walls and ceiling.

At first, there was no apparent change in his surrounds but for the growing pile of filth at his feet. It had to go _somewhere_ and he was curious about how much of it there was. Slowly the pile became bigger and bigger in size until it finally stopped growing altogether, reaching his knees. It was much, much larger than he anticipated but he should have expected it, since the attic probably hadn't been cleaned in _years_. With a flick of his wrist, the filth went into the trash bag. Having removed all the dirt, dust and other nastiness not only from the outside of the boxes but the inside as well, he began the most tiresome and time-consuming part of this chore: Sorting the boxes.

Sheets, blankets, old baby clothes and stuffed toys got spells that revived faded colors and repaired holes; those too far gone to be saved were thrown away. A set of silverware, jewelry and several other metal items acted as the catalyst for charms that removed tarnish and polished all the metal in the attic (including, most likely, the nails in the walls and floor). Broken Mirrors, porcelain figures, thanksgiving china, Christmas ornaments and glass on picture frames were repaired and cleaned. He reorganized everything, restoring boxes (both cardboard and plastic) to their original condition as well as resizing them so everything would fit and labeled each one clearly.

Overall, it took him about three hours but it was when he set a spell to polish wood that he noticed something odd. His magic 'bumped' into a feeble spell that was not one of his own nor was it Balthazar's or anyone else he recognized. Curious and slightly alarmed, Sam carefully tracked the very faint hum of magic to an empty spot in the back of the attic. There was a push of a weak and badly crafted Notice-Me-Not spell that would be incredibly easy to get around since all he had to do was go where the 'Not Here' push was the strongest.

'_Okay, Faint Magic plus Empty Space equals Invisibility Spell. I think.'_ Rather than feel around for whatever it was, Sam utilized a rather neat trick for dealing with invisibility spells, sending rings of white smoke to the area until they revealed the outline of what looked like a keepsake box. Banishing the smoke, he crouched down in front of the empty space and carefully probed it with his magic so he could sort through the spells without triggering them.

However, even that light touch was enough to make the fragile invisibility spell collapse, revealing a wooden box. Made of dark wood, probably ebony, it had exquisite carvings of fish, ocean creatures and water plants along the sides with a heavy lock in the front. Studying the spells invested in it, he could detect nothing harmful, only magics for preservation and for it to go unnoticed. Nevertheless, that didn't mean anything; enchanted objects could look fairly innocuous until they were trigged.

There was a hint of a spell hidden among the others but too faint for him to identify. Sam was fairly good at finding and indentifying spells but he was still just a sorcerer-in-training. _'Maybe if I….'_ Sam put his ring hand over the box, not quiet touching it, trying to get a better feel of the energies around it. _'The spells on this must be really __**old**__ to be as weak as they are.'_

"Sam!" His mother's voice called up from the bottom of the attic's ladder. Jumping like little kid caught doing something naughty, Sam grabbed the box without thinking as he heard the tell-tale creak of his mother climbing the ladder. He tucked it behind one of the cardboard boxes just as her head popped up from the attic's entrance.

"Oh wow, you've been a busy little worker, haven't you?" She commented with pride as she looked around, "You done already?"

"Just about," Sam lied, "I've just a few more things to do."

"I brought you a little snack to keep you strength up."

Sam took the glass of milk and plate of cookies from his mother, smiling when he saw the cookies were her extra special double chocolate chip cookies. No matter what she said, he knew that this was '_I want you to know that I still love you though I'm punishing you' _snack, "Thanks, mom."

"You're welcome. Don't work too hard." Sam waited until he was sure she was gone before returning to where he'd hidden the box. Sitting down his food down after eating one of the smaller cookies, he pulled the box out of hiding, since he'd grab it earlier so thoughtlessly there was no reason to hesitate touching it now. He did realize he would have to explain his blunder to his Master, which made him wince internally because Balthazar wouldn't be happy with Sam's carelessness. Had the box been something nasty, Sam could have easily lost his hand or worse.

'_And wouldn't that be fun to explain to my parents after a trip to the emergency room?'_

The dark wood was silky-smooth to the touch and close up the carvings were delicately detailed. Running his fingers over the sides and the bottom, he tried to indentify the faint spell from earlier and maybe find the key for the lock. Something sharp stabbed the pad of his finger as his ring flashed with power when he touched the lock.

Automatically, he the stuck the bleeding digit into his mouth, _'Great, now I'm going to need a Tetanus shot…_' Sam blinked in surprise as he heard the lock disengage. It was then that it dawned on him what that faint spell most likely was a Bloodline Enchantment. With such an enchantment in place, the box would only open for person of a certain lineage and the fact his ring had flared meant it was also testing for the ability to use magic.

It was not unusual for sorcerers to leave a legacy for their descendants, hoping that there would be yet another sorcerer in the family tree. However, Morganians also used such spells to destroy alleged 'Merlinean' bloodlines. Becoming a Morganian or Merlinean was a choice on the part of the sorcerer; however, some bloodlines seemed to produce more of one then the other and thus considered by most to be Merlinean or Morganian bloodlines.

Sam considered wrapping the box up and taking it to Balthazar, who would know what to do with it. However, he no longer sensed _any_ spells on the box, not even the ones that had been for preservation. For intents and purposes, it was just a regular box now. Bringing the box to him _now_ would look like an overreaction on Sam's part. Beside he was going to turn sixteen in a few weeks, he should be able to handle a something as simple as a _box _and notrun to Master for _everything_.

With that in mind, Sam opened the box with cautious fingers. Besides the squeaking of the hinges, nothing unpleasant happen, which was very good but rather anticlimactic. The box contained what looked like old journal and a heavy ring of dark gold with a milky blue-green stone. He thought it was amazonite though he could wrong, of course. After all, he'd thought his own ring was silver with an emerald gemstone when it was in fact platinum with a moldavite stone. From what he could see of the ring, carved shakily on outside of the band were the words: _No sacrifice, no victory_, the Witwicky family motto. Inside, there were tiny symbols and glyphs that Sam didn't recognize, though he felt he should.

'_Well, __**that**__ explains why the Bloodline Enchantment reacted.'_ The only sorcerer in the Witwicky side of his family tree that Sam knew of had been a Merlinean named Archibald, his great-great-grandfather. From what Sam knew of the man, Archibald had barely been powerful enough to the warrant the title of 'sorcerer', which explained why the enchantments on the box were so weak. According to the family legend, Archibald was one of the first explorers to sail north of the Arctic Circle and something 'really bad' had happened on that expedition. Something that had begun the deterioration of his mental health to the point he was committed to the Psychopathic Institute for the Long-Term Insane, drawing bizarre symbols and ranting about an 'Ice man' until his suicide three years later.

Balthazar had been good friends with Archibald, regardless of the gap in power levels. Unfortunately, he could not shed any light on the subject for he had been in East Africa at that time, dealing with a pair of lions that history knew as the Tsavo Man-Eaters and the Morganian who had altered them. When Balthazar had returned to the states, Archibald was already buried and most his records lost. Sam had been surprise to learn that Balthazar had been watching the Witwicky bloodline ever since.

However, when it had become apparent that Ron was as ordinary as his father and grandfather had been, Balthazar presumed what little magic in the line had died out, which would not have been unusual given how magically weak Archibald was. This lead to him not watching the bloodline as diligently as he claimed he should have, somehow missing Sam's potential completely until he walked into the Arcana Cabana when he was ten.

Sam personally thought it worked out for the best, stating in an effort to comfort his Master_: when the teacher is ready, the student will appear._ Balthazar then ruining what could have been a touching moment by pointing out that was a misquote. But he felt it was a nice gesture anyways.

It was odd though. Regardless of Merlin's example, most sorcerers preferred to have their rings buried with them rather than leave them for someone else. Those rings were such an important item in their lives, it made sense that they would want their rings with them in death. However, the moment Sam picked it up, he instinctively knew that while it had been a sorcerer's ring, it was now magically dead. On closer examination, he realized that the 'milky' quality of the ring's gemstone was actually millions of tiny fractures in the stone itself, making it utterly worthless and unusable.

It took a great deal to destroy a sorcerer's ring. The constant flowing of magic through made it so nothing man-made could harm it. Hammer it with a sledgehammer and it wouldn't lose its shape, throw it into a furnace and it wouldn't melt. Magically, however, it could be done. Not all sorcerers were created equal. If a sorcerer channeled too much power through their ring, it would shatter and they would be powerless for the rest of their lives.

'_Gods.'_ Though it was on the warm side in the attic, Sam felt a shiver go up his spine and subconsciously rubbed his own ring, assuring himself it was still whole. To be able to see and sense the magical energies of the world but not be able to use them anymore….for a sorcerer, it was a fate worse than death. _'No wonder the poor bastard killed himself.'_

Sam placed the ring back into the box and turned his attention to the journal. The dark uneven leather of its cover was a bit worn; creaking when he untied the strap holding it closed and the cream-colored pages were wrinkled as if they had been exposed to water. Pen-and-ink drawings of strange symbols, glyphs and patterns that were similar to the ones carved into the ring splashed across the front cover and margins of the first page. The writing they danced around was shaky with a great deal of splattered and smeared ink as if the person writing was having trouble doing so.

_I am Archibald Amundsen Witwicky, Captain of the ship __**Discovery**__. I was the leader of the National Arctic Circle Expedition; determined to be the first to sail north of the Arctic Circle. _

_The voyage was cursed from the onset. We were plagued with bad luck. Storms that blew up out of nowhere, blowing us miles off course followed by weeks becalmed on the sea. Food thought to be wholesome was found to be inedible, there was a lack of fresh water, injuries, and sickness plagued the crew. _

_My first mate, Reginald Danco believed that the bad luck besetting us was the work of the Fates, trying to keep us away from Arctic Circle. I should have listened, should have set a course for home, be damned what the scientific community thought me. But I, in my pride and arrogance, instead dismissed his concerns as mere superstitions for he knew nothing of the arcane and I sensed no magic being worked against us. As I told him, I didn't come all this way to leave well enough alone._

_Words I would later regret uttering._

_Just as our goal was in reach, an early cold snap locked the ship in ice. As the crew tried to free the __**Discovery**__, it was here that I encountered what I can only describe as the Devil in the ice. _

_This huge creature was not of flesh and blood but of metal, a metal that I have never encountered, one that had no place on earth. I stood in the palm of a hand that could have easily crushed me though it did not. For the creature appeared frozen in the ice, its maw open in a silent roar of fury, full of teeth like jagged metal pikes. _

_I assumed the creature was dead or at least held harmless in the ice. How wrong I was. I looked into the eyes of the Devil, glowing like red embers in that monstrous face, and the Devil looked back, looked into my very soul. I felt my ring shatter as visions filled my mind, horrible visions of a dying metallic world followed by our own world being torn apart by their war. _

_Even now as my sight dims, I still have visions, waking or sleeping but these are of symbols that have no meaning. I become possessed and write for days without rest, until my hand spasms in pain and my body screams for nourishment. Before my mind slips into madness completely, I leave this __journal as a warning for those who practice the magical arts, whether they be Merlinean or Morganian, that there is a force beyond the stars with powers greater than our own. _

The entry just stopped there. Sam flipped through the rest of the journal, finding nothing but pages filled with strange patterns, glyphs and sigils that invoked a strange, on-the-tip-of-the-tongue feeling, a feeling that he _should_ recognize them but _didn't_. Perhaps the feeling came from the fact some of them appeared to be similar to the glyphs and sigils that were sometimes used in spell casting while others looked like nothing Sam had even seen, almost like an alien language.

'_Wait. Stop. __**Think**__. _ _Old Archie was __**insane**__, a completely off his rocker nutcase. He spent the rest of his life a padded cell drinking antipsychotic cocktails before taking a header out a window.' _Sam reminded himself as munched unhappily on what he realized was the last cookie,_ 'His crazy mind probably warped some sorcery glyphs and made up the others.' _

This so-called warning was probably a product of that fevered brain but for some reason _that_ didn't feel right either. If it was simply the ranting of mad man, fine, wonderful even. Maybe not wonderful, since he _was_ Sam's ancestor and mental instability had a nasty habit of spreading throughout a family's tree but if this really was a warning and not a product of a mad man's imagination, well, forewarned is forearmed.

Either way, it was official; he had to take this to Balthazar. There was one very big problem with that, he realized; though he had finished his assigned task, Sam was still being punished, add that it was the weekend and there was absolutely no way he could get permission to go see Balthazar today. His father, especially, would be a jerk about that because it was one thing for Sam to spend all his _school time_ with his _tutor_ since, as far as he knew, Sam was being homeschooled, it was another for him to spend _all_ his time with Balthazar. Therefore, weekends were officially 'family time,' never mind the fact that they didn't actually _do_ anything together, which was probably for the best.

Sam's relationship with his father was strained, to say the least, and would probably get worse after last night. Sam _had_ called and spoken to his father, explaining that he was going to be late coming in and Dad had said it was fine. However, when Sam had finally got home, his father started scolding him for being out so late _**without**_ calling. Sam could have argued about it but he knew from previous experience that nothing good would come of that and would only lead to one of their arguments that upset his mom terribly. Therefore, Sam took his punishment without a fight.

Strangely, his father had seemed to start scolding him _after_ saw his feet. Sam glanced at the extremities in question seeing nothing amiss, unless one counted the nail polish. Metallic candy apple red polish gleamed from his toenails. Carly had wanted to try out a new nail polish and Sam was dragooned into being the guinea pig. Somehow, it had turned into a full manicure and pedicure with his fingernails sporting a clear coat while his toes were painted Fire Dancer Red.

'_That can't be it….can it?'_ He picked up the glass of milk to take a drink, frowning when he found it empty. It made a certain bit of sense, Dad couldn't _legitimately_ punish him for painted nails but he could punish Sam for coming in late. But would mean he _lied_ about the call and Dad wouldn't do that….would he? No, no, he probably just forgot. It _was_ late last night when Sam called and Dad had been quite the partier when he was younger, so that had to have some effect on his brain.

'_But it seems like he's looking for excuses to punish me lately, especially when it involves Balthazar…. almost if he dislikes him for some reason.' _Sam placed the ring and journal back into the box. _'No, that's not it. If Dad didn't like Balthazar, he'd 'fire' him and put me back in regular school wouldn't he? He's a jerk but a straightforward jerk. It's probably me and him are just butting heads. After all, I'm growing up and he __**knows**__ that but he still wants to be in charge. He probably doesn't even realize he's being an ass. ' _Samtied the opening of the trash bag closed and dropped it through the attic's entrance before following it, dishes in hand and the box tucked underneath his arm.

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The Witwicky house was dark and silent, save for the soft creaks and groans of the foundation contracting in the cool night air. According the glowing numbers of the alarm clock, it was close to three in the a.m. but rather than asleep like most of the household, Sam was staring at the shadows on the ceiling of his room. He knew was going to pay for this lack of sleep later, especially when he had to get up in a few hours anyway and wasn't an early bird by nature. Unfortunately, his mind wouldn't turnoff, thinking about Old Archie's journal. He'd already spent several hours thumbing through said journal, trying unsuccessfully to make heads or tail of it. The strange symbol and patterns made about the same sense they had when he first looked at them, which, of course, was none at all.

Tomorrow he planned to take the journal to the Arcana Cabana but he needed sleep _tonight_ if he was going to be any use. He closed his eyes and stretched out in the comfortably warm cocoon of blankets, inhaling the clean scent of the fabric softer his mother used as he deepen his breathing and began relaxing his muscles, one group at a time, starting from his feet and working up. By the time he felt his neck muscles pop and release their tension, the rest of him felt limp as a puddle of warm melted wax. Just as he began to slide into the deeper realms of sleep, something touched him.

The touch wasn't physical but a gentle caress of living energy, gentle enough that it didn't fully awaken him. The gentle, thrumming energy hummed through his bones, centering in his chest. _"….I am here…."_ It seemed to sing, without words, without melody, without a sound, beseeching, cajoling, _"…Come find me….Find me …."_

Sam's semi-awake mind indentified it as the Caller and not something to worry about. For years since he'd started his training as a sorcerer, the Caller had distracted or awakened in the middle of the night at random intervals. To this day, he still didn't know who or what it was that was calling. When he'd mentioned it to Balthazar, the sorcerer had explained that once Sam had started actively using his magic, he'd become in tuned with different 'frequencies' than most people. Most likely, he was accidently overhearing a message meant for another, like a crossed phone line would sometimes allow someone hear other people's telephone conversations.

Sam had tried to answer the Caller over the years but wasn't sure if he was heard. He and Balthazar had even tried to find out where it was but the calling would always stop before they could pinpoint its origin, which was annoying and frustrating to the extreme. Rolling over, he burrowed deeper under the warm covers, determine to ignore it and get the sleep he needed to function during the day.

Maybe because it had been so hard to sleep earlier but unfortunately, the Caller was harder to ignore at night when his mind wasn't busy with other things and it seemed more persistent tonight, more…..desperate.

Just as he was starting to feel slightly guilty for ignoring it, never mind that he could do nothing for it, a jolt of _pain-horror-__**rage**_ washed over his senses, hitting him like a body blow. He scrambled out of bed and was on his feet, ring aglow with ready-to-cast magic as he searched for a nameless enemy in the shadows his room before he realized that he wasn't under attack.

Anguished grief that was not his own rolled though him, so strong a sob caught his throat as the soundlessly keening faded into silence. Sam sat on the corner of the bed, taking several deep breaths to get his emotions back under control. _'It's not me, it's not mine.'_

Carefully, he checked over the wards that Balthazar had helped him construct for his parents house, finding them intact and untouched. _'It wasn't an attack or at least not one on __**me**__. I'd have found some evidence of damage or tampering.' _So, what had happened to provoke _that_ sort of response? Why was _he_ feeling it?

It was then that his alarm went off, making him jump about a foot in the air. Looking at the clock, he realized that he'd set it wrong and had to be at the Arcana Cabana in about forty-five minutes. All thoughts about the mysterious incident vanished from his mind as his raced to get ready for work.

'_Damn, damn, damn.'_ He changed into some clean clothes, nearly tripping and falling as he fought to get his jeans on as quickly as he could. Barefoot because he couldn't find his shoes, he went to the bathroom to wash his face with a wet washcloth and brush his teeth. Another ten-minute hunt finally yielded his shoes and he raced down the stairs. He quickly scribbled a note to stick the fridge, telling his parents he was going to work and he was finally out the door.

Pedaling as hard as he could and taking several shortcuts that should have killed his bicycle, he made it to the Arcana Cabana in record time. After nearly killing himself getting there, the shop was dark and obviously still closed. There was a note stuck to the door from Balthazar, stating that he would be back later that day, could Sam please open the shop?

'_And not even a hint of where he is.'_ Sam grumbled mentally as stuck the note in his pocket and unlocked the door, '_That whole I-am-a-Mysterious-Master-Sorcerer crap again. Bah, what a pain.'_

The frosted glass ceiling's skylights were dark at the moment, blocking the light of the sun and keeping the shop cloaked in shadow. With a gesture from Sam, they lighten letting in enough sunlight to see clearly without the electric lights. He tied back the curtains in the storefront windows and the shop was ready for business.

The Arcana Cabana had under gone some changes in the last few years. The inside of the shop was still filled wall to wall with strange items and antiques but there were no longer any cobwebs hanging in the corners or a fine layer of dust on everything. Nor were objects piled on top of each other in disorganized heaps ready to fall at the slightest jolt. The shop had been completely reorganized, from top to bottom making it easier to navigate.

Huge books shelves were filled with volumes in English, Latin and other strange languages with stranger alphabets, each organized by types and size. Little figurines, statues and other works of art had their own tables. One wall was lined with weaponry running gamut from katanas to bō staffs to long swords and everything in between arranged by country of origin, their sharp edges gleaming in the light. Every antique was arranged by either size or type and each had their own special place.

The clean showcase-counters now displayed a wealth of jewelry made to adorn nearly every body part from hairpins to toe rings made from anything, including to the most common materials like gemstones, precious metals and beads to the unusual such as bone, animal teeth, shells, woods and carved stones. There were new additions to the shop that were not antique. Several smaller shelves were filled with candles, incense, crystals balls and cabinets filled with waxes, molds, semi-precious stones separated by types and sorted by properties with packages of pre-measured herbs and vial of fragrant oils that could anoint either objects or the body.

Anything magical but harmless was place into another section of the shop, separated by a beaded doorway curtain that was enchanted to keep unauthorized people out while magically dangerous objects (like a certain urn) were put into storage for safe keeping.

Sam was rather proud of the Arcana Cabana new incarnation and rightly so, since it was his idea to reorganize the shop and bring in new merchandise. He pointed out that the Arcana Cabana could be used to gain new allies or at least get to know other Merlineans in the area. Sorcery wasn't a one-size-fits-all discipline. Not all sorcerers could perform magic just by 'thinking about it really hard' as he had heard it been put and needed other physical implements than just their ring. They needed 'working materials' such as hand-dipped virgin beeswax candles with linen wicks or special chalks for drawing spell circles. The Arcana Cabana would be a valuable resource for those who needed such things since there no guarantee ordering online that one would get exactly what they ordered.

There was another welcomed benefit was when Sam parents' began expressing concern that he wasn't getting enough exposure to the real world (whatever that meant) and should consider getting a job, Balthazar offered him one minding the shop so it wouldn't interfere with his studies. Sam was sure that wasn't the only reason behind the offer. Many of the Merlineans who came into the Arcana Cabana seemed nervous around Balthazar, which was understandable. Not only was Balthazar a thousand-plus years old, he was one of the three original apprentices to Merlin, who was considered to be the founder of the discipline known as sorcery.

'_He's also destined to find and train the Prime Merlinean as well.' _Sam mused as took his place behind the counter were the cash register was, putting the box containing Old Archie's things underneath. '_With a list of accomplishments like that, it's understandable to be nervous around him, I suppose.' _

The Prime Merlinean was supposedly the one who would become Merlin's successor and an incredibly powerful sorcerer, one so powerful that they didn't need a ring to perform magic. Sam couldn't help be a tad worried about what would happen to _him_ when Balthazar found the Prime Merlinean. Would he still be Balthazar's student? Or would his training be giving over to another so Balthazar could focus on is more important apprentice?

'_Knock in off, Witwicky. There no point in worrying about something that may never happen in your lifetime.'_ Sam was not Balthazar's first apprentice and wouldn't his last until he found the Prime Merlinean.

Rather than continue thinking about that, Sam took care of the growing lethargy he could feel weighting him down from not only his lack of sleep but also from his race to beat the clock. Like his Master, he wore multiple rings on his hands. Not only would they act as a disguise the ring his used for sorcery, he could store power in each of them for later. Tapping into those reserves, he felt a flush of energy wipe away the heavy drowsiness and he felt a lot better. Opening his Encantus to a random passage, he began reading, surprised by what he had landed on.

Like everything else in the huge book, the schematic for this particular spell was brilliantly detailed and beautifully illustrated. The diagram was of three human figures in an upside down triangle formation, each surrounded by a different colored aura. One of the side-by-side figures was vivid blue; the other was vibrant red with matching arrows between them. Beneath the red and blue figures was the third, enclosed by a pale violet aura. It was quite a pretty picture for what Sam considered a dreadful piece of magic: Soul Fusion, the physical merging of two souls into one body.

Definitely not a spell that Balthazar would approve of, given the '_this spell usually results in the death of both the caster and the victim' _warning, however, Sam believed that all knowledge was worth having even if you never ever used it.

The string of bells that been attached to the door jingled merrily as the door opened to admit a teenage boy that looked a few years older than Sam. The arrangement of merchandise obscured the customer's view of Sam when they first entered the shop, he, however, could see the whole shop from his perch behind the counter so he had a chance to check them out before stepping forward.

And oh, what a view he had now. Taller than Sam and well-built without being overly-muscly, with thick, yellow-blond hair was long and silky-looking enough that Sam finger's had a sudden itch to touch it. The customer wore a tight yellow shirt, a black jacket and a pair of tight black jeans that loving hugged a nice pair of buns Sam got a nice view of when he looked at something on the opposite wall, his back to Sam.

'_Oh yummy. Hey Pretty Boy, want to see a magic trick?'_ Sam flushed deeply at the fact he was ogling a male customer. He had long accepted the fact he was probably gay (though he'd never enlighten anyone to this fact) given that he'd had a crush as his childhood friend Miles Lancaster before the friendship fizzled out when Sam started training. There was also a very short-lived crush on his Master that Balthazar either hadn't noticed it (unlikely) or was kind enough not to say anything (kind of likely) or thought it was hysterically funny and was saving that tidbit for later to embarrassed Sam with ( very likely).

But it was rare thing nowadays that Sam met a guy who made his hormones stand up and go 'Oh Hi!' so they had a tendency to catch him off guard.

When Pretty Boy glanced over to where he was standing, Sam subtly shifted his weight so his form was hidden behind one of the freestanding shelves. He fanned himself, trying to cool his cheeks, praying that Pretty Boy wouldn't come over. Lascivious thoughts aside, he knew he'd have problems talking to him, past experience taught Sam that when he tried to talk to a cute boy _or_ girl it was hard for him to say anything cool or witty or intelligent. He'd mostly just babble stupidly and then have to go away.

Discreetly, Sam peeked around the shelves to study Pretty Boy, wanting to make sure he wasn't a Morganian. The shop was protected against such things but it never hurt to be careful and the last thing he needed was his hormones going gaga over a _Morganian_. Not only would that be dangerous, it would be humiliating as hell.

Good news was it didn't look like Pretty Boy was a Morganian or a Merlinean at first glance, which was something that was recognizable right off (kind of like Gaydar but with magic.) In all likelihood, he was merely a mundane looking for the weird and outré. Less dangerous than a Morganian but it still took him out of the running as well.

It was rare to find a mundane who could accept a sorcerer as a lover. Balthazar explained they would either freak or become enamored with _magic_ rather than the one wielding it, eventually becoming jealous and resentful since they would never be able to use such powers themselves or they wouldn't understand how important magic was in the sorcerer's life. Most who dated or married a mundane ended up having to hide their magical nature from their lovers or spouses.

Sam refused to be in a relationship where he had to hide something that was such a key part of him.

'_I have enough of that with my parents, thank you very much.'_ Sam pushed his glasses more firmly on his nose, _'Okay, Sam you can do this, just go up to him and be helpful.' _He put on his most helpful face as he walked to the table of curiosities that Pretty Boy was looking at, noticing that there was an emblem on the sleeve of his jacket that looked like a red face composed of angles and lines. Before Sam could say anything, Pretty Boy turned towards him and Sam felt his thoughts come crashing to a halt.

Pretty Boy definitely earned the name, he had a sweet face with fine bones that made Sam think of those pictures of Guardian Angels. Not the ones of the simpering sweet angels but the ones brandishing flaming swords, with hidden depths behind those sweet faces; ready to fight evil _with_ their charges not _for_ them. And his eyes- _Gods_-his eyes were a vivid glowing blue like a gas flame surrounded by thick lashes and somewhat familiar.

It took him a second to place _why_ they seemed familiar, _'they're like Balthazar's, like he's seen centuries of great and terrible things pass and learned from them without becoming bitter or disenchanted…' _

"Gosh you're pretty," the sudden smile to those full pink lips made Sam realized he had spoken _that_ part aloud. He blushed so hard that he felt lightheaded for a moment before speaking quickly, trying to pretend he didn't just make an ass of himself and started babbling, "Can I help you find something? I'm helpful in that way, seeing that I work here and so I would be the guy to go to find stuff. 'Cause, you know, I'm helpful. Very, very helpful."

Pretty Boy opened his mouth as if to speak before grimacing and rubbing his throat. Sam noticed absently that he had nice hands, his thoughts racing over the fact that Pretty Boy's throat hurt him badly enough that speaking caused him pain. Making a decision, he made a follow-me gesture, asking, "You allergic to anything? 'Cause if you are I'll find some pen and paper so you can them write down. No? Well that's good. I'm not allergic to anything either, unless you count sushi but that's more of a personal choice than an allergy 'cause I'm not eating something that looks like fishing bait unless I have to…"

Sam went behind the counter were the specialty herbs were kept. Measuring cups and a small scale were sitting on top while shelves filled with small jars of herbs lined the wall behind it. Nothing appeared to be labeled if you didn't what you were looking for. All the herbs kept here were expensive, rare and had to be asked for by name. His hands flew around the jars and cabinets, carefully gathering and measuring the ingredients he needed. While he wasn't an herbalist, his education _did_ cover the making of the most basic teas and tisanes.

Balthazar made sure that his apprentice knew how to brew a decent cup of tea.

Once Sam placed the tea in a green packet, he quickly wrote the instructions for this use on a large sticker and attached it. "Drink one cup of this before bed time every night for a week. It'll help soothe your throat and promote healing. If you need to, you can add sugar or milk to taste." Sam instructed as he handed over the packet. His fingertips brushed Pretty Boy's hand and what felt like tiny jolt of electricity jumped up his arm. Sam quickly pulled his hand back, "Whoa, static buildup huh?"

Pretty Boy just gave him a mysterious smile and moved to pulled out his wallet. Sam stopped him, waving his hands, "This one's on the house, for free ya know? I just hope it'll help, with your throat, so you'll come back- I mean get your voice back." With a nod of thanks and sweet smile that made Sam melt inside, Pretty Boy headed to the door.

'_Funny how the Earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to,'_ Sam mentally moaned after wishing Pretty Boy a good day and began putting everything back were they were suppose to be. If he had only glanced out the window, he would have been treated to an unusual sight. He would have seen the handsome young man get into a very nice yellow-and-black concept camaro parked on the curb and vanish as if he never existed. He would've then seen the now driverless vehicle pull away from the curb and drive down the road out of sight.

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Author's note:

So no Balthazar is this chapter, he was supposed to be but it didn't work out (because it's hard to get his 'voice' right), hence Sam's Mysterious-Master-Sorcerer complaint. Balthazar is off doing something important…I think.

Balthazar also strikes me as someone who hates to see potential wasted, which is why he'd train other young sorcerers even though they're not the Prime Merlinean.

As for Sam not knowing that _he's_ Prime Merlinean, in this instance I don't see Balthazar telling ten year old Sam that's he's going to be the world's most powerful sorcerer. He'd wait until Sam was mature enough to handle it. While Sam himself realizes he's powerful, it never occurs to him that he is the _Prime Merlinean_ even though he's wearing the dragon ring.

It's amazing what a person can ignore or rationalize if they choose.

Everyone one thrilled about Dark of the Moon? I know I am!

To my readers:

I owe you all an apology.

When I posted the first chapter of this story, a reviewer pointed out that a scene in that chapter was very similar to one in the fic: _Dragon's Heir_ by Sara Wolfe. Having not read this fic, I checked it out and to my dismay found it to be true. Mortified, I tried to rewrite the scene several times but none of the rewrites had the same power and tone I wanted. I've messaged Sara Wolfe and explained what happen. She was kind enough to allow me to keep it as it is.

I am both horrified and embarrassed that this has happened and I assure you all that it was a completely unintentional blunder on my part. If I borrow ideas from other authors, I always ask first, give credit, and try to take said idea into another direction or put a new spin on it. I hope you will forgive me and continue to read this fic and others I have written but I will understand if you do not.

I would also like to thank kenobigirlliz for bringing this to my attention.

Thank you all for your understanding and once again, I apologize that this has happen.

-BlueLunacy7


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